{Kurt}

Kurt's normal Sunday morning activity was a visit to the local walk-in clinic on 109 street for a routine STI check and a renewal of his PreP prescription. Since he'd sobered up, Kurt had taken charge of protecting himself. No point avoiding death by liver disease just to expose himself to HIV. The tiny PreP pills were a miracle of medicine for gay bottoms everywhere, and they gave Kurt some freedom, as the dominant partner, to be generous with dudes who preferred the feeling of skin on skin.

Walking out of the clinic today with an additional prescription for a round of penicillin, Kurt felt the seismic shift in his thinking about the coming week. He would have to backtrack and contact all the partners who'd possibly contracted this minor but unpleasant STI from him--annoying, but pretty routine. There were just a handful; the long hours building basements were satisfyingly tiring, and these days he often stayed home in the evening, texting with Jon before the other man went to his shift at River House.

What Kurt was wrapping his head around was, next week he didn't need to make this visit—he was on holidays from being sexually active for the first time since Grade Twelve. It had never crossed his mind to just—not. It blew his mind a little that all the Sundays he'd been dropping into the clinic on 109, Jon had been sitting in a pew in church. If Kurt hadn't felt Jon's heart racing against his chest and seen the blush in his cheeks after holding Kurt in his arms, he would have wondered if they were the same species at all.

Did Jon want to have sex, ever? Did he not have the same urges Kurt had? How did he just live without? Why would he?

I am never hooking up with you.

Out of all the things Jon had said last night, this was the line Kurt couldn't stop picking at. Jon's furious disgust had crumpled the little hope that had come to live in Kurt's chest. When Jon had crushed on him in high school, Kurt had been as much of a virgin with guys as he was.

There was so much shit under the bridge since then. The chances that Jon would ever agree to be his actual boyfriend felt pretty much non-existent now. They were too different. Kurt seriously doubted Jon would see Kurt's sober hook ups as the empowering story he felt like they were. Kurt never wanted to see that expression on Jon's face again, looking at him.

By the time Kurt got back to his apartment, he was discouraged and sick of himself. The dismal surroundings of his trashy one-room didn't help lift his mood. He'd been desperate to move out of the homeless shelter when he found this place. It had felt like a big step up from sleeping in a dorm room full of rank male bodies. Next month maybe he could finally afford someplace decent, if his Corolla didn't die first.

Kurt crawled into his bed, pulling his covers over his head so he didn't have to smell the carpet.

He thought of Jon's lemony clean-man smell and the breath of his voice on Kurt's cheek. We are so loved. It felt like something that had happened in a dream.

Dully, Kurt pulled out his phone to poke out terse messages to the dudes whose parts had been who knows where with who knows how many people, to get themselves checked out. Beyond that, it wasn't his problem. His STI was staying put until the round of penicillin killed it dead. Thank God for modern medicine.

(Did Jon actually thank God for things? Did he still pray?)

His phone chimed with Jon's tone and Kurt drew in a breath, pulling it back to his face.

Jon: <clarification needed: are you my practise bf over text?>

A corner of Kurt's mouth pulled up. Oh my god he was cute though, even over text. <is ur phone secure?> he texted back.

Jon: <yes *smiley face with hand covering mouth*>

Kurt laughed softly. Jon's emoji game may have been influenced by his middle-school sisters. <i'm down if u r>

Jon: <*red heart*>

Jon: <is it too soon to say I miss you?>

Jon: <the house is too quiet without you>

Jon: <I'm boring without you>

Kurt touched a finger to those words on the screen to confirm they were real. That fragile little hope was back, fluttering in his chest. Jon missed him. Was he just saying that to play the part of his boyfriend?

He was out of practice texting a guy who just put his heart into his messages and basically jumped off a cliff to send them. Jon was the only man he knew whose outside voice was as feely and direct as Kurt's inside voice, at least when he was speaking privately to Kurt. He sent: <r u using ur bf to procrastinate ur homework white? *laughing with tears emoji*>

Jon: <100%> <what are you doing today?>

I'm fielding grumpy messages from my hook-ups about an STI I gave them/they gave me and having an identity crisis, Kurt thought.

<counting the hours to bacon and eggs with u> Kurt texted. His stomach rumbled and he dragged himself out of bed to make himself some food, wishing he was cooking for two.

*

There was a steak hissing in a pan on his stove when a battering knock made Kurt jump and whirl. Thank god he'd thrown the bolt.

"Yeah?" he said to the door.

"It's yer landlord," a man said. "Rent's due."

Adrenaline went through Kurt like a charge, and he quickly double-checked the date on his phone. "No it's not. I paid you last week."

The deadbolt clicked open and Kurt backed into the stove, feeling oil spitting hot through his shirt. Jon's shirt.

His landlord was a stocky, balding man and he showed Kurt a set of crooked teeth, then appraised the room, his thumbs hooking in his belt.

"You can't just come in here," Kurt said. "Without giving me notice."

"You weren't here yesterday when I came with yer notice," the man said, leering. "Where you been Kurt?" He flipped the door closed and Kurt flinched in spite of himself.

Kurt held up his hands. "I paid you," he said slowly. "In cash. I put it in your goddamn hand and you counted it."

"I'm here to collect the rest." Flicking his belt opened, the man swaggered up, crowding Kurt with what he must have imagined was a suggestive smile. "As per our agreement when you moved in here with nothing but your pretty lips and fine ass."

Kurt's stomach turned and he stood on his toes, pressed against the stove as the man's hands frisked him thoroughly. "I'm paying you in cash now," he said through his teeth. "An' this steak's the only beef going in my mouth anymore."

Catching Kurt's face in his hand, the man stared him down, his fingers digging into his cheek. This was going one of two ways and Kurt was keeping his goddamn parts to himself today.

"I'm busy, fuckhead," Kurt said, showing his teeth in a cocky smile. "I don't do men with hygiene issues. Take a shower, asswipe."

The man shoved him away, into the stove, and Kurt threw his arms over his head while he pummeled him. His landlord really didn't have the work ethic for a solid beating. Judging from Kurt's pathetic posture that his point had been made, he stomped to the door.

"Rent's been raised, bitch," he snapped. "A thousand dollars. I'll be back tomorrow." He slammed the door shut behind him.

Catching his breath, Kurt unfolded and ran his hands through his hair. All his fingers and limbs intact. He checked his palm, hissing; the stove element had left a rainbow of welted burns on the heel of his hand when he'd lost his balance. Sucking on the burn, he jerked the pan the rest of the way off the heat with a clatter and turned off the stove. The whole apartment smelled like burned meat. He was going to need to go back to the pharmacy for anti-scarring cream.

Trembling in the aftermath of that explosion, Kurt ran his hand under cold water. "A grand--hell." He laughed sharply. "I've been undercharging."

Shaking the water off his hand, he lifted his guitar off the wall and pulled his case out from under the bed. The soft ring of the strings steadied him as he carefully tucked it in place. He wasn't sleeping here another night, knowing that deadbolt could click open at any moment.

He shovelled his clothes and blanket into a garbage bag and hauled it all into his Corolla. There was still room for him to sleep in the passenger seat with all his shit and his guitar in the trunk. Wouldn't be the first time.

He left the meat on the stove and the food in the fridge and the door wide open.

Supper was overdone steak and fries at an all-day breakfast place, then Kurt drove aimlessly until the sun went down. He parked his car a block away from his work site, in a shadowy cul-de-sac. With the car doors locked and the seat reclined, probably no one would even notice him in here. He wrapped his blanket around him like a cocoon and texted Jon under its cover:

<miss u too>

<loved everything about last night esp the nachos *fire emoji*>

There really were no emojis for the size of his feelings right now. Sighing, Kurt pressed his burned hand against the cool dark of the car window. He leaned his cheek against his arm and wandered into the memory of the weight of Jon's shoulders against his body, lying together on the floor in the candlelight.

The thing was, for all the ways he didn't understand Jon, it just made Kurt want to see more of him, hear more from him, run his hands all over his compact, sturdy body and figure him out. Maybe they were doomed from the start; they were so different. In the moment, Kurt had done what he could to create a safe way out for them both. If Jon would never date him for real, they could just call it practise. If it was just practise, either of them could end it and part ways, with no sticky stuff between them.

At least, Jon could end it and get away clean. Kurt could already feel himself getting attached. They had done nothing more than talk and hug and hold hands, and Jon had more strings on Kurt's heart than he'd let anyone touch him with in a long time.

<tbh ur my high point today> Kurt sent. <night *red heart*>

Swirling with feelings, Kurt hummed quietly, then put those feelings into the words of one of his songs, settling himself with the sound of his own voice, singing in the dark.

1500 words.

*Re-readers, there's quite a bit more information about Kurt's hook ups in this version. TMI? Or helpful to build his character and the stark contrast between him and Jon?

I am really trying not to sh*t on Kurt here--do these scenes feel respectful of his experience and others like him?*